


A Short Treatise on the Uses of Invisible Cloaks in Non-Combatant Situations

by Sylvesha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, slight exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 04:49:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvesha/pseuds/Sylvesha
Summary: Hermione learns that admitting to fantasies is a good way to see them fulfilled. And that Harry is very good at knowing what she wants.





	A Short Treatise on the Uses of Invisible Cloaks in Non-Combatant Situations

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually written much earlier in the year, but I never got round to re-reading for quality or at least typos. 
> 
> I am going to state up front that I don't actually know if anyone's in character. I'm not sure I care. I'm also aware that I may be one of five people who thinks Hermione is a closet exhibitionist. Though technically, there is no actual exhibitionism, it's more the thrill of getting caught.
> 
> I blame all of the uses the Cloak would have gotten from James and Sirius, because you know those two (ok, actually, I think Remus was probably the first culprit to use it in this fashion, but the other two aren't slow)--would so use an invisibility cloak for just this purpose. Although James would probably ban Sirius from using it. And that is probably enough about people who are not in this story.
> 
> Also, I tagged this as underage, but this is probably set in 6th year?

He'd warned her that he had a plan, and that she was going to enjoy it a lot. But what he hadn't said was that he was going to go down on her in the middle of the Welcoming Feast. What he hadn't intimated was that he was putting his invisibility cloak to the sort of use Hermione was pretty sure she would have banned. In a snotty and officious tone.

Right now, she was pretty sure the only tone she could make was a demanding, whimper-filled one.

She should never have bloody _told_ him this particular little fantasy, even though he'd asked (after he'd given in to her demand before, and described his locker room fantasy, she'd only thought a return fantasy was fair play. Just because it had then led to some excellent sex with him _begging_ as she rode him was certainly no excuse).

At the start of the Feast, she'd just assumed that he was running late. At one point, she even thought she'd heard him tell her hello. But Ron hadn't seemed to worry, and unlike the beginning of their sixth year, danger wasn't something close at hand.

With Voldemort defeated, and their 'Eighth' year begun, Hermione was looking forward to finishing her education--she wasn't entirely sure how she'd managed to convince Ron and Harry to return, but then again, Harry hadn't ever liked using his fame (and she had to admit not having sex for months on end had probably figured into his decision). And Ron, well, Ron knew he needed the grades even if he never used the knowledge again. One couldn't play Quidditch forever, after all, and even he knew that trying to get a job without NEWTs was hopeless.

She hadn't worried until she'd felt the presence under the table. Until she'd reached down and felt Harry catch her hand.

Pretending to drop a fork, she'd snapped at him for being late. He'd looked smugly at her, then re-covered himself with the cloak.

Somehow, Hermione didn't think that Death had this sort of use in mind when he'd fashioned the damned thing on that bridge so long ago.

Harry had started out gently, carefully, lulling her into a sense of false calm. His hands had stroked her legs, massaging that kink she always got from standing too long, tickling along the backs of her thighs and knees. She'd actually slipped closer to give him more room to work.

That had been a mistake.

She'd realized that after her skirt had been slipped under and her knickers had vanished. By then, she felt it was too late. Harry had her legs spread, one arm bracing her thighs open and his face on her inner thighs, nose and lips and teeth working ever closer to her cunt.

To get away, she'd have to struggle, it would cause a scene--someone would notice that her skirt was covering more than her knees (or less). But if she didn't... a whimper almost escaped her when he nuzzled her curls, then nipped one side of her outer labia. For a moment, then, he paused--and she realized that he was waiting for her to tell him to stop, giving her the choice to continue.

Her eyes closed for a moment. A hand on his head pushing him away would stop him. But the thought of stopping him, of not finishing her off, now he'd started... she kept still, and felt his lips twitch into that evil little smirk he had when he knew she was giving in.

If she'd been standing, she was fairly certain her knees would have buckled. Her pussy clenched for a moment, then released, and she could feel Harry's breaths teasing the dampened skin. Gods. She was so fucking wet, and he'd barely done a thing to her.

Anyone could catch them, she thought dimly as she carefully gripped the edge of the table with her left hand. Knuckles white, she thought about how close she was to being caught with the Savior of the Wizarding World between her thighs and under her skirt. It wasn't hard to imagine the image under the table. She'd seen it without a table blocking the view before, after all.

Biting down hard, she caught the incipient moan behind her teeth.

Harry took advantage of that moment, and the moan almost escaped. She wanted to curse at how well he knew her body, her tells. His tongue swiped across her once, twice--again and again. For an instant, she could think of nothing but the feel of his tongue.

Then reality intruded, Seamus calling down to her, "Hey, Hermione, y'seen Harry?"

"No--" she managed. Not really a lie. Maybe. As if in retaliation, he nipped at her clit. She jumped, then grabbed for her glass of juice. "He's just late, I think."

Two of Harry's fingers slid into her, twisting and rubbing.

She could almost _hear_ what he'd be saying to her as he stroked and teased. His breath hot in her ear, his words just this side of ridiculous. "Are you going to come, Hermione? With my fingers sliding in and out of that tight little pussy? Can you hear them, love? How wet you are? That slurping noise is my fingers fucking you."

It was absolutely awful how hot those crude and silly words could make her. But they'd discovered that early on--even as she'd dissolved into helpless laughter, she _had_ clenched around him, had enjoyed the edges the words dug into her imagination. Fueling fantasies she wasn't yet ready to admit to.

The fantasies that were far more explicit than the one he was fulfilling now. She flushed, imagining admitting to them, whispering the truths into Harry's ear as he drove into her, his penis hard and feeling so _good_ she almost wept when she let herself come around him.

Her hand clutched again at the edge of the table. She was so close now, all she could do was hope she managed not to scream when she shattered.

Conversation drifted around her, and she tried to focus on that, tried to hold off the inevitable.

If she could just hold off, if she could just--

A third finger pushed into her and he nipped at her clit again.

Everything froze for a moment, and then she fell, spasming around the fingers buried so indecently inside of her, against Harry's mouth and tongue and with everyone watching her.

Not that they were, she knew, vaguely. Not really. But the thought, the _idea_ that they were, was enough to make her bend forward and muffle herself in her napkin as though she'd got something stuck in her throat.

Someone slapped her on the back, and an aftershock rippled through her.

She could feel Harry smirking against her thigh as he eased his fingers from inside her still-fluttering cunt.

"Just--drank--" she faked a cough, then almost yelped when Harry licked her again. She was over-sensitive now, and she was going to have to survive the rest of the Feast with nothing but air to collect the fluid leaking from her. She hadn't expected sex to be quite so _wet_ and squishy, once upon a time. But she was somewhat resigned to it now (even liked it, if she admitted that to herself).

"You all right there, Hermione?" Ron had finally noticed something was a little wrong.

She nodded at him, then closed her eyes and bit her lip, trying not to moan. Harry was still between her legs, but not doing anything for the moment. "I'm. I'm ok."

"Eh, good." he shrugged and went back to his dinner.

Hermione slowly unclenched her hand from the edge of the table and slid it underneath, searching blindly for a moment before Harry caught it with his own.

Anyone looking under the table would have seen him, but most everyone was still focused on their food or conversation, and no one did. He kissed the palm of her hand, then slipped away from her.

Taking in a deep breath, Hermione released it and straightened on the bench. As uncomfortable as it was, she would survive without knickers.

Besides, it just meant that if an invisible assailant dragged her into a secret passageway, she'd have something to hiss into his ear as he fucked her. _I could flash my wet pussy to anyone, Harry. I came so hard, when I thought about it. Thought about you pulling me underneath and fucking me right there. Thought about you standing up and bending me over, where everyone could see. I wanted to taste myself on your mouth and fingers, Harry._

Maybe she could propose the idea of her borrowing his cloak sometime soon.

Her mouth turned up in what was probably a slightly manic grin. Perhaps she should suggest it while he was in the midst of his climax tonight.

Payback, after all, was fair play.


End file.
